


our passion play has now at last begun

by StrangeHormones



Category: There Will Be Blood
Genre: Blasphemy, F/M, Smut, sex as worship, virgins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:34:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26058775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrangeHormones/pseuds/StrangeHormones
Summary: eli sunday x plainview!reader| what do you believe when everyone is watching? what do you believe when no one is around?
Relationships: eli sunday/reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	our passion play has now at last begun

“Your mouth is like fine wine— flowing smoothly for my love, gliding past my lips and teeth! I belong to my love, and his desire is for me,” the way you speak so plainly, avoiding all the shame his question had meant to bestow upon you with a smile and a dainty hand holding your skirt’s lacy hem off the dusty church porch.

He hates the power you have over him. Not just in this moment but in everyone before, since you strolled into town with far more confidence than any woman deserved. Least of all one who had not welcomed God into her heart and yet so happily twisted His scripture. It infuriates him that all he can seem to focus on is the curve of your neck, wondering how you might quiver as his tongue tasted the salt of your skin till his lips settled against the shell of your ear. And though he knows he should utter words that will lead you back into the arms of God and on the road to salvation, they won’t be. Dark whispers that made your back arch and breath stop, he so desperately wishes to possess you.

He holds himself back, even as longing rushes through his veins and threatens to consume him, “You’ve read it and you still don’t believe it?” opening the door behind him and stepping back, as if he had to trick you past the threshold rather than simply inviting you in.

You were only a Plainview in name, after all. You glanced over your shoulder, catching the gaze of the man who gave it to you before stepping forward, “It’s a wonderful story,” eyes returned to a man who occupied far too much of your mind already, “And you act it so well. But I have little time for children’s stories.”

There’s a finality to words, the one he expected to hear, the thoughts he can’t change, “What would it take? What would convince you of the truth I know so well,” because there is no psalm or verse that will do it.

“I am not the one in need of convincing of anything,” you wear a smile, that arrogant kind that is the only resemblance your patchworks family shares, “When you imagine us and all the ways you will make me repent for my sins, how do I sound?”

You are walking temptation and no matter what everyone believes of him, if you asked he might just crumple at your very feet, “Lust is but a tool of the Devil. You must know that.”

“I said nothing of lust,” taking a careful step down and backward, “That was you,  _ Eli.” _

It’s so different when you don’t twist it with his family name. It sends an unmistakable shudder down his spine, the day is far too warm for it to be a chill. It makes you feel powerful in a way you so often don’t. Only ever as strong as Daniel allows you to be. No man can control this part of you, human or divine. You step onto the dirt, smiling up at him as he does his best to find some fault to your argument. You had offered an implication and he had been so eager to fight you he turned it into his own.

“Meet me here tonight,” he says, voice shaking ever so slightly, incapable of ignoring his flock and the way they whispered, “Before your evening walk, of course.”

You shrugged, “Perhaps,” turning on the heel of your boot and beginning your amble home, holding your hand out for the suddenly appearing H.W. 

He spends the day with members of his congregation. Each of them reminding him of who he was and where he stood in God’s great plan. So much so his ego had naively allowed him to believe he was in any way prepared for what would transpire that evening. He had never met you when you were no longer playing your part, when there were no eyes to pry and no rumors to spread. He opens the door with a confidence, that belief that he can change yours that he only manages to feel when he is not in your presence. Tonight is no different in that regard and in that regard only. Because he didn’t know that a skirt could be hemmed to the knee or that a woman would so comfortably walk around with her shoulders and arms exposed for the world to see. And though his propriety tells him to demand you go home and change, for he would not be seen with someone so immodest, that part of him that aches to see every inch of your flesh has become much more powerful in this one moment.

“You wanted to see me,” you spoke, climbing the church steps in those tightly laced boots that he had always associated with young men and seemed salacious in the way they hugged your calves.

He holds the door open, “Just for a few moments,” he really means it when he says it.

How truly isolated they are beneath the darkening sky changes the atmosphere in an instant. The sunset makes the cream of your dress drip blues and pinks that make you glow. He shouldn’t follow behind you to the stage, but he does. He knows it’s a mistake to touch you but he can’t help reaching out and brushing his fingers ever so lightly across the round of your shoulder. You turn suddenly and only then does Eli realize his eagerness leaves you toe to toe. There is no denying what this moment is and what it may become. He should, if he were the conduit he had convinced his congregation he was then perhaps he would have been able too.

He is not. 

You do not fall beneath him, instead rolling on your toes and pressing your lips back firmly against his. While he grips the back of your neck, dipping his tongue between the seam of your lips as your finger tangle and yank at the roots of his hair. Your back hitting the wood echoes in the empty church, the way your hiss falls into a moan is music. His fingers scrabble along the ties that hold the front of your dress close. They fall open surprisingly easy and he might’ve questioned it if he wasn’t finally able to taste you. Along the curve of your neck, the jut of your collar bones, you hum, and he can’t help his gasp. 

His breath fans across your skin, your fingers tighten in his hair while you make quick work of the buttons of his vest, and beginning on smaller buttons of his crisp, white shirt. Dragging your pinky along his flesh as the wedge of exposed skin grew. His lips ghost along the curve of your breast as he lowers himself onto his knees before you without another thought. His hair a mess, shirt hanging open, hands gripping your hips with a bruising grip as he looked up at you as if you were the Holy Mother herself. 

“If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal,” it’s all you can think to say, his mouth clamps over a straining nipple, sucking hard as if it might stop your words, “And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge,” He rips a sudden moan from you as his teeth scraped against you, “And if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing,” determined to finish, even if you were nothing but a carnal mess by the end, “If I give away all I have, and if I deliver up my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing.”

You fingers in his hair, the words tumbling in a beautiful melody punctuated by the heaving of your bosom against his ministrations, for the first time Eli feels unworthy. It’s an odd sensation that fills him with the desperate need to fulfill every desire you ask of him, from here to eternity if it meant you would look down at him with those hooded eyes as you did now. Watching him release a saliva slicked nipple to lavish its twin with the same attention, desperate to draw the cry from you that it did. He can feel the warmth of your womanhood, pressed against his belly with only the soft cotton of your dress between you and him. Her hips make to jut forward and he pushes them back harshly against the wood.

“I will love you,” his voice soft, he barely realizes he’s speaking but it’s thunder in your ears, “I will take you away from here,” trusting your body to remain still with how captivated you seemed to be by his words, “From Daniel Plainview,” grasping the shortened hem of your dress and dragging it upwards, his knuckles dragging along the soft curve of your thigh, “And I will worship you,” and though he knows it’s blasphemy, especially from a preacher, it’s the first time he’s truly believed what he’s saying.

“What would you want from me?” his frustrated sigh rolls across your skin, feeling your legs shake as his hand dares closer and closer to the only place he longs to be anymore, “What is the price of your love?”

“Wherefore they are no more twain, but one flesh,” he groaned, cupping your soft mound in his hand, eager for your heat and dampness as he had never been before, “What therefore God hath joined together, let no man put asunder,” he rejoices in watching your head roll back, your breath catching when he dips a slender finger between your folds, “It is such a small price to pay.”

He steals first your voice and then thought before you are permitted to answer, running his fingertip back and forth over the small bump that had made your entire body jolt. He applies pressure and it rips a cry from your throat that both of you know must barely make it beyond the walls. His vanity is outweighed but the unquenchable desire to hear that noise again. Repeating the motion of and over until it’s a squeak in your throat. 

You can feel it crawling out from somewhere deep inside you. The way he so brazenly abuses the bundle of nerves you had only ever dared to rub along your roped sheets. This is far more intense and it fills you with a hunger that seems to leak out of your skin. You wonder briefly if he can taste it on your skin before something begins to happen. Whatever had been drawn out of the depths of your soul had now spread across your skin. You can’t control your breathing, your voice, you can do nothing but fall into something only Eli Sunday had ever made you feel. The only real Heaven in this universe. Every part of you is so wonderfully on fire and all you can say is his name, though in what way you don’t know. Simply that he holds you steady, you can’t make out his words through the blood rushing in your ears but nothing can be louder than their tenderness.

You come crashing back to Earth with knees the buckle. He helps you to the floor, proud of the way your muscles twitch and your eyes hang half closed over a lazy, satisfied smile. You’re far more beautiful now than in any of those wonderful gowns Daniel had bought for you. Slicked with sweat, weakened fingers curling as tight as they can in the collar of his shirt, urging him closer to you in a way you can’t articulate. Whether because he’s stolen language from you or simply the ability to speak, he doesn’t know, but it fills him with pride all the same. He crawls over you, knees between your own as you urged him closer.

Till you can taste him once more, just like the fine wine you’d spoken of just that afternoon. His sticky fingers run along the curve of your waist, making your entire body tremble and burst with strength. You had never once imagined you would sit atop a man as one did a horse but when you cant your hips, pressing your core against the bulge in his trousers it feels right. Looking down at him, watching him trying to come to terms with this newest form of worship. And when your fingers go to work trying to free him, you distract him with your lips and teeth against his neck.

“Will you tell him?” you whisper against the shell of his ear only once you’ve released his cock from its prison, slamming your hand against the wood floor beside the other, making him jump and press against you, “What you took?”

It rips a moan from his throat, a sound he was unaware his body could make, let alone without his permission, “No,” and though he longs to see the fire and fury on Daniel Plainview’s face had he told him all the carnal ways he had you, “This is ours. Yours and mine,” his fingers tender for the first time as the ran along the curve of your spine, the round of your thigh, “Let me set you free.”

You don’t think, you just fall, trusting him when he places his weeping cockhead against you and begins to angle his hips upward as he eased yours down. It’s an odd sensation, new and a bit uncomfortable. But it doesn’t hurt like Daniel had always warned it would, you didn’t feel dirty as he had suggested you might, you just feel full. Every part of you inside and out feels as if it is being taken apart piece by piece by the man beneath you. Those green eyes sparkling as they grow darker and darker at the feeling of you completely enveloping him. 

You lean forward, the angle makes you gasp, your walls flexing around him, “Worship me, Eli,” it comes as a gasp, somehow more powerful than you could ever muster on your own.

His hips roll against yours and you fall against him with a cry far more addictive than the one before. He repeats the motion, over and over, your cry becoming needier with each press deep inside you. It’s easy to roll your body, holding you close and driving deeper than even he had believed possible. A low growl bubbles from his throat and it sets the tone for everything that comes after.

His thumb and forefinger roll your ignored nipples between them, first one, then the other as he lavished your neck with affection. Hips snapping against yours at a punishing pace that lifts every part of you higher. Your body falls limp, arms spread, head lolling, looking far more holy than anything he’d seen before. He tells you that and a thousand things more, each more blasphemous than the last and feeling nothing but righteous as he buried himself inside you. He won’t last much longer, he knows that, it is his first time as well. No matter how he had tried to seem otherwise. The way you looked, the noises you made, the way you clenched around him in ways he could never have imagined. It will all be his undoing. But he needs yours, just once more.

He abandons your chest for that button that had undone you before. You can feel it at the door the moment his flesh makes contact. Your body thrashes, your hands rip into the pristine cotton, and dig into the flesh of his shoulders. Your legs suddenly around his hips, digging into your thighs, the way his eyes roll and flutter closed. A thousand and one things go into the moment but it ends in you screaming his name over and over until it’s a hoarse whisper. It’s every cool breeze on a sweltering day, every star in the sky, pulling you from your body before thrusting you violently and perfectly back into it.

Only when you’re clinging to him, crumbling around him as your body twitched and begged for more of him as earnestly as it begged him to stop, does he lose himself. It is more than the Lord has ever shown him. You gasp at the sensation of his seed inside you, seemingly pulling him closer. He grinds desperately against you, never wanting the sensation of filling you to stop. And he understands now how you could scream his name until you’d lost your voice because your’s is the only word he knows anymore. He pants it as he desperately runs his hands along your skin. As he kisses every part of you he can before he loses himself in the taste of you, your teeth splitting his lip much as it had his skin, the last sacrifice of himself that he can give to you.

You both lay there a panting mess for more than a few minutes, pressing kisses, mumbling sweet words, each passing second he softens inside you and neither feel any desire to move. Not until both your bodies begin to ache. Each of you taking care and helping the other clean themselves up. He goes to wipe the pink-tinted mixture running down your leg with his kerchief and you distract him with a hard kiss.

“You'll see me again before the night is through,” he has no idea what you mean but the way your smile manages to be genuine and mischievous makes him forget to wonder what that means. Instead, he watches sadly as the door closes behind you, praying that it is true.

You know it will be. A choice was made tonight. One you had been convinced, by Daniel, would never happen. It’s dark, everyone is tucked in their beds, none the wiser to what had happened on the stage they would worship at tomorrow. It is for the best. Walking into the small cottage you shared, you know you must look as ravished as you feel. There’s a dark spot on your socks where it’s begun to soak the fabric but it’s clear what is on your thigh. The mess of your hair, the bruises that must adorn your neck, topped off with a smirk that you had learned from him.

“Wash up, your sheets are expensive,” he barks, returning his eyes to the fire.

It takes nothing from you, just as you had expected it wouldn’t, “I’m not your burden anymore.”


End file.
